


Hope Left

by starlightwalking



Series: A-Spectrum Anthology [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aromantic Awareness Week, Aromantic Boromir, Aromantic Character, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6025702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir had never really felt the same about romance as anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Left

Boromir had never really felt the same about romance as anyone else. He’d grown up with stories of people falling in love. He had heard his parents talk about their love while his mother was still alive. He had watched how that love had torn his father apart when she died. He’d seen that love turn to bitterness and anger as Denethor took out his grief on Faramir; he’d seen it destroy their family, and he’d always been so confused. Why had his father turned harsh? He missed his mother dearly, and yearned for her arms around him again, but he didn’t feel angry that she was gone. He didn’t feel broken. Ought he to?

When Boromir was twenty and and his little brother fifteen, Faramir fell in love with some city girl. Boromir loved his brother and protected him through everything, supporting him where Denethor never did, but he just could not understand what the big deal was all about. Sure, she was pretty, he guessed, but Faramir barely knew her. He thought that love was all about getting to know a person, befriending them, standing by them. But Faramir simply could not stop thinking about this girl. He would blush whenever he saw her, and came to Boromir for help in winning her favor. He could only do so much, however, and though he supported his brother, he didn’t get it.

As he grew up, everyone else seemed to understand. He watched as his friends fell in love and married, and attended each wedding happily, but though he could understand wanting to bond with someone for life, he never understood what the girls giggled about, what Faramir cried over, what Denethor still grieved because of.

He remained single through his whole life. At first, no one seemed to mind, but as he grew older, people began to realize that he was the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, and he had better go about producing an heir of his own. Boromir was not averse to having children. He rather liked the idea, actually. He was fond of children and being a father would bring a whole new kind of joy and love into his life. But he could not ever picture the perfect girl to have them  _ with _ . Denethor began to pressure him to marry, but he always shrugged him off. Being a Númenoreon, he had time. And there was always Faramir—his brother was never short of love interests. He would undoubtedly have children, eventually. There wasn’t anything to worry about.

Tension rose in Gondor as Mordor strengthened its attacks on Osgiliath and the outlying territories. Boromir, as a Captain of Gondor, was kept busy defending their lands. When Faramir began to have strange dreams, Denethor said nothing. When at last Boromir had the same dream, Denethor sent him to Rivendell.

There he joined the Fellowship. The hobbits reminded him of children, Merry and Pippin especially. He grew attached to them almost immediately, teaching them to fight and helping them whenever they stumbled.

The rest of his companions were an odd bunch, though he tolerated them. It was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who was most irritating. As Isildur’s heir, he would come to Minas Tirith and usurp his father. Boromir loved his father, for all he was bitter and broken and could not see the good in Faramir. He would not let that stand. And added to that, Aragorn was a misty-eyed fool, forever sighing over Arwen, his impossible love. Boromir could tolerate romance and its follies when it was his brother who did the sighing, but his patience grew thin with this ranger from the north.

The Fellowship arrived in Lothlórien, weary and grieving from Gandalf’s fall, and were welcomed by the elves there. His companions found rest and relief, but Boromir found none. Lady Galadriel had some elvish magic about her, and she had stared into his soul. She saw his secret desires, she knew that he coveted the Ring, she knew that he wanted to see the glory of Gondor restored, but not through the  _ ranger _ . But she saw deeper than that. She saw his lack of desire. She saw that he did not feel this love everyone else spoke of, this romance, this want, this need for others to complete him. He had never understood and still did not understand. He was  _ angry _ . He was  _ scared _ .

“In all lands love is now mingled with grief,” she told the company, but she looked at him. He heard a voice in his mind, speaking of the fall of Gondor.  _ Even now there is hope left, _ she added,  _ but you must find it yourself. Put aside your anger, your confusion. Become the man you know you are. Become strong. You are not broken, Boromir. You are only different, and your burden is heavy. You must choose to do what is best for Gondor, and the world, though it may not be the way you think it will be. _

She laid him bare, and he could not rest. All these repressed frustrations spilled out until he was crying, alone at the edge of their camp. Aragorn tried to convince him to rest, but Boromir was restless. He had no peace. He spoke of Gondor, of the future, of victory, of his people. He spoke of his city and found a great love swelling up inside him.

“Have you ever seen it, Aragorn?” he asked. “The white tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?” He looked Aragorn with desperation, begging him to understand. Boromir loved his country, he loved his people, he loved his family, he loved the hobbits, he loved  _ so much _ , but it wasn’t like Aragorn’s love for Arwen. It was never like that.

“I have seen the White City, long ago,” was all Aragorn said.

Boromir looked at him and pushed aside his grievances. There was still hope, as Lady Galadriel had said. He would choose to do the best by Gondor, the country he loved, though perhaps not the best by his father. “One day, our paths will lead us there, and the tower guards shall take up the call.  _ The lords of Gondor have returned. _ ”

Boromir was a lord of Gondor. He was man unlike many other men, but he was still a man. And perhaps he did not feel the same kind of love that others did, but he was no less for it. And though perhaps he would not return home in the manner he expected, he had found a home within himself.


End file.
